The Importance of Learning from One's Mistakes
by Waiting.At.The.End
Summary: It was supposed to be a quiet walk, just between the two of them. Trouble, however, has a nose for sniffing out business.  AusHun-centric. Humor with a dash of fluff.


Another requested fic, this time for She-Wolf-2010. I did my best to fulfill the fluff _and_ humor criteria, so hopefully this will suit your tastes. Thanks for your commission, and enjoy.

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Hungary sighed dreamily and smiled as she allowed the fresh Austrian breeze to ruffle her hair, blowing a few strands loose from their usual binding of her bandana. The pebbled path of the park crunched lightly beneath her feet as she walked, bushes and the occasional tree passing her by. The day was warm for spring, and hints of summer were already tangible in the air.

Austria was walking beside her, looking similarly pleased with their surroundings, and although Hungary loved the scenery of his home country, she thought that it was the presence of the man beside her that made her happiest. She loved Austria, after all, and it was no secret, neither between the couple nor to the people around them, and Hungary was perfectly content with it that way. Love, after all, was not an emotion to be contained to oneself.

She smiled happily and reached out to take Austria's hand in hers. The other looked up in surprise at the contact and flushed just the slightest bit, unaccustomed to such public displays of affection. "Hu-Hungary," he stuttered. "What are you doing?" but Hungary just squeezed his hand reassuringly, smile unfaltering.

"Let's walk together, Austria," she said, tenderness obvious in her voice, and he gave her a slightly exasperated look, but did not pull away.

They continued walking in silence, listening to the quiet crunch of pebbles beneath their feet and the occasional flutter of wings as a bird took flight from the branches above them. They had never been a noisy couple; Hungary could often be raucous and chaotic on her own, but they'd both discovered that Austria's composure offset her clamorous and oftentimes rash nature—despite their differences, they somehow fit one another's mind-frame perfectly and words were hardly needed to communicate when it came to them.

Both of them were surprisingly attuned, Hungary had realized after a short time in their former union. Austria always attempted to hide his troubles, but she never found it difficult to read his signals and Hungary was not shy in expressing herself anyway, but he (ever so selfless) would not waste time in rushing to her side. She thought now, as she walked beside him with his palm warm in hers, that she liked that about him. It wasn't often that she found it easy to admit to herself, but no matter how rough she played and how strong she acted, in the end there was a part of her that more than appreciated someone that acknowledged her feminine side. They weren't perfect, but she believed that they were as close as perfect as anyone could get.

A rustle from the bushes had her looking ahead to the shrubbery that lined the side of the road as she frowned slightly. It was probably just an animal, common sense told her, but her instincts were saying otherwise and she'd known them to be right more often than wrong. Concerned as she was, she didn't notice Austria inspecting her expression until he asked:

"Is something wrong?"

Hungary blinked, snapping out of her thoughts and looking at the other. She forced a small laugh. "O-oh, it's nothing," she said, smiling nervously; she was probably mistaken anyway, and there was no need to make a big deal out of a possibly false conclusion. "Really," she added in reassurance when she could see that the musician didn't believe her.

Austria's expression altered to match her own earlier as he wondered whether or not he should try to probe a little further, but eventually decided against it, knowing that Hungary would usually tell him anything of importance. "All right then," he said. "But if you ever need to tell m—"

His last words were cut off as a triumphant cry reached their ears, and before either of them could react, a very, _very_ familiar figure rose out of the bushes and—

_SPLASH._

"Wha—?" Hungary screeched as cold water suddenly cascaded over her head, drenching her clothing and hair, and if the startled gasp from beside her was anything to go by, Austria had been caught by the downpour as well. For a moment, the woman simply stood still, water dripping down her chin and the strands of her hair, but the shock didn't last very long.

Prussia was leaning against the rough trunk of the tree beside them, still holding the rope tied to the now-empty bucket above Austria's and Hungary's head, gasping in laughter as France appeared from his right, looking disgruntled at the state his clothes were in after crouching in the bushes for so long, but nevertheless amused at the condition of the couple before him (and oh—he was so lucky that Hungary was wearing a white blouse).

"Fra-France!" the Prussian gasped between breaths. "Did you get the picture?"

"Of course I did," the other replied just as the third member of the rather infamous trio emerged from behind the shrubbery, laughing as well, though nowhere near as hard as Prussia. "Mon Dieu, Prusse," the blond continued as he picked a stray leaf from the hem of his sleeve, camera clearly visible in his hand. "I know your love for jokes, but _try_ at least to make them in better taste."

Prussia merely scoffed. "Lighten up, old man," he returned. "It's not as if you don't need to buy new clothing every time you and England end up in the same room."

The Frenchman groaned and mumbled something less than complimentary, but any further conversation that might have been undertaken by the three was interrupted when Austria finally recovered from the ambush. "Pru-Prussia!" the man yelled, clearly upset. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Huh?" Prussia looked away from his friends as the cry directed his attention towards Austria, his expression turning decidedly antagonistic as his gaze landed and locked on the aristocrat. He stepped out of the bushes, red eyes narrowed and lips pulled into a smirk, walking casually over to where the musician stood.

"What was the meaning of that?" he repeated, draping an arm companionably over Austria's shoulders, who was looking positively scandalized. "That, mein Freund, was you getting caught in my awesome trap!" (France huffed and disagreed, pointing out the _absolute mess_ that was the dirt on his pants while Spain laughed and picked another leaf from the blond man's hair.) "You should have seen your faces!" the Prussian snickered. "I knew it was an awesome idea to bring a camera along. I'll even put it on my blog! Kesese, you should feel honored that you'll be getting your unawesome face featured by me!"

Austria frowned and prepared to make a retort (couldn't Prussia act more mature and not play these infantile tricks?) when the words about to leave his lips turned suddenly into a sneeze.

"Oh, mon Dieu." From the Austria's other side, France wrapped an arm around the musician's waist, (when _did_ he get there anyway?) and inspected the other man in mock concern. "We should get you out of those clothes, mon chéri!" he exclaimed. "You seem to be catching a cold..." and he didn't wait for an answer before moving his free hand to undo the button at Austria's throat.

Austria tensed then pushed the offending body part away, trying his best not to show his nervousness with _those two_ sandwiching him, knowing that they, like dogs, would sense any weakness and immediately pounce. "Th-that's enough," he stammered, still trying to keep his composure as he smoothed a hand over his dampened shirt. "You have had your fun, now _I_ would like to return home and change my clothing, which you seem to have wrecked in your unseemly joke. Now if you'll excuse me—"

He attempted to break out of the two men's hold, but they were having none of that: Prussia gripped Austria's shoulders harder while France tightened his hold around the musician's waist. "Not so fast," Prussia taunted and the Frenchman nodded in agreement.

"We can ah—'take care of you' right here, mon chéri," he whispered into their captive's ear.

Austria swallowed, and tried to break away again in vain. "I-I don't believe that will be necessary."

"Aw—don't be like that. I swear, little master, you're no fun at a—"

_CRACK._

Prussia's sentence was never finished as he was sent flying backwards from the force of a frying pan (wait, he wasn't aware that there had been any on the scene, so where the hell did _that_ come from?), skidding an impressive distance across the ground to where he finally stopped and clutched his cheek in pain. "Fuck!" he yelled. "Hungary, what the hell was that for?" but the woman paid him no mind as her positively murderous look centered on France.

There was a brief pause as the blond stood frozen to the spot before he gave a nervous laugh and quickly pulled his arm away from Austria, holding his hands up in surrender, the camera still swinging from a wrist. "He-hey, look here, chérie, we were just joking, you know?" he said, smiling apprehensively and trying to swallow his fear of the woman before him (Hungary was dangerous, certainly more so than some of the men), attempting any excuse to try to escape Prussia's fate.

"Is that so?" Hungary replied, no hint of a returning smile. If anything, her vicious aura seemed to grow to a state to rival Russia's.

France gulped and decided now to make a strategic retreat (as Spain seemed more occupied with the momentarily incapacitated Prussia to be of much help) and began to back quickly away. Hungary was, however, a lot faster and before he could make much progress, she had grabbed him by the arm, producing from the blond the most unmanly squeal possible as he braced himself for the contact of a frying pan to his head, but she snatched the camera from his wrist instead.

Hoping that it was enough for the woman, he tried again: "Ahaha—ta-take the camera if you want! I don't mind, real—" but he was cut off as Hungary mercilessly slammed the device into his face. France collapsed with a cry of: "No, not the faaaaaaace!"

Hungary ignored him, considering her 'clean-up' work to be complete, and spun around to face Austria, expression morphing impossibly fast from dangerous to worried. "Austria, are you okay?" she asked, dropping her infamous frying pan as she took the musician's hands in her own, inspecting him carefully. "I'm so sorry, Austria!" she apologized, clear shame to be seen in her features. "I shouldn't have let them continue for so long, those dimwits," the hardly flattering title was said with a glare in Prussia's direction, who Spain was cheerfully reassuring that an ice pack would solve the problem, "I don't know what came over me!"

"Ah," Austria, looking slightly disconcerted with the woman's sudden change in attitude, managed to shake his head, "it's okay." It wasn't as if he had sustained much damage other than some drenched clothing, and he was grateful that Hungary had come to help in the first place. He smoothed a hand down the front of his shirt, though not to much effect as the cloth was still wet. He sighed wearily. "Perhaps it's better if we both get changed..."

Hungary nodded in agreement. "Yes, yes, we should, but..." she trailed off, frowning as she looked back at the two indisposed figures on the ground. It wasn't as if she was _particularly_ concerned about their well-being (or so she told herself), but it'd be wrong to simply leave them laying on the road.

Austria must have caught her gaze, because after a slight pause he sighed again and ran a hand through his dampened hair. "I suppose we should give Germany a call as well."

They ended up making the call on Spain's phone and waiting for the younger German to arrive to pick up the two more 'grievously injured' (Austria had to scold Hungary for stopping them with such violent means), but Spain smiled and declined the ride, after apologizing cheerily to the couple for the trouble his friends caused. Prussia wasn't forgiven quite so easily, and Hungary was certain that he would be getting an earful from his younger brother when the two arrived home (and she secretly wondered if Germany would find more 'interesting' ways to punish the other, but it probably wasn't the best time for such thoughts).

The liabilities taken care of, Hungary now relaxed in the spacious living room of Austria's house, bandanna disposed of and wet hair clipped up, feeling comfortable and content after taking a warm shower and changing out of her drenched clothing. Despite the book held open in her lap, she didn't miss the soft pad of footsteps on the carpet when Austria stepped into the room, dressed as well in fresh clothes.

She looked up from the pages of the novel (whose content she wasn't keen on disclosing, thank you very much) and smiled softly at the man. He returned the gesture and added a light: "Do you feel better?" to which she nodded in confirmation.

"Yes, thank you," she said, fondness obvious in her tone, which morphed into confusion when a small frown flickered across the other's face. "What's wrong?"

Austria quickly shook his head. "Oh—it's nothing," he replied, then rubbed a hand over his mouth, looking slightly conflicted. Hungary blinked and waited patiently for him to finish. "I-I should be the one thanking you," the musician told her, an almost undetectable blush gracing his features as he lowered his hand. He looked her straight in the eye, and there was no mistaking the obvious tenderness she saw reflected in his gaze. "Thank you."

There was a moment of silence as the words sank in, then Hungary began to smile again. She reached out and took Austria's hand, eyes sparkling with joy. It was ridiculous how happy the smallest things Austria did made her fall in love a little more, even though each time she thought that she couldn't fall any harder.

There was no response required when she wrapped her arms around Austria's neck and leaned in for a kiss because actions spoke louder than words, and those two had never needed words. They weren't perfect, but they were as close as they could get.


End file.
